It’s late February in northern New England, and it’s been in the mid 60s for the last three days.  It feels glorious out, a wonderful respite from the cold, but it’s hard to ignore the little buzz in the background suggesting that unusually warm weather might not be entirely benign.  Thankfully, Bill Clinton gave us the answer to all such quandaries:  Don’t ask, don’t tell.  Four little words to ease the mind and slice through moral turbidity!  A vegetarian enjoying the delicious hot & sour soup at a favorite Chinese restaurant?  Don’t ask, don’t tell.  Your previously broke partner buying lovely gifts with a new credit card?  You know the answer…

With my conscience thus assuaged, it was a lovely day on the farm.  The south-facing pastures are now free of snow for the moment…

…and all the melting has brought the streams on either side of the fields to a full boil.

The last of the current rotation of barn ewes also lambed this morning.

Once again, the birth seemed to be stalled, so I pulled the lamb after an hour of nose and feet poking out with no further progress.  This time, though, the little ram lamb was vigorous from the moment he joined the world.